I Miss You

It has now been an entire week since you exited my life.  I am not sure why you decided to do that.   You were with me up until 3am-ish, watching the tennis.  I turned off my alarm.  I definitely needed the sleep in and when Hubby woke me up in the morning I realised you had gone.  

These last 7 days has shown me just how reliant and dependant I was on you.  It is very difficult for me to comprehend the time when you and your ancestors did not exist.  And I functioned fine without your species.  Every morning you woke me up, gently, with a soft musical tune and if I needed a little sleep-in, all I had to do was give you a light touch and you would grant me an extra 10 minutes.  Once I was up, I recorded my temperature and checked my chart, you then told me what the weather was going to be for the day so I could dress and prepare accordingly.

On the way to work you would play any music I desired and when inspiration struck would take down a note with just the sound of my voice.  Whilst at work I was able to send messages to everyone I knew as you held all my contact information for every single person in my life.  When I was waiting on hold or walking down the road you would show me my emails, update me with the latest gossip and give me a few games to play to pass the time.  On the way home from work you would connect me to Hubby so we could keep each other company on the drive home and then at home I would leave you in the bedroom and instruct you on when I would like to be woken up.

I relied on you for so much, for information, entertainment, storage, note taking, photo capturing, music playing, shopping list creation, email, blogging and about 100 other things.  And now you are gone, and I sit and wait, hoping today is the day when I get the call to tell me that you are fixed and all better now and once again we can be reunited.  Your temporary replacement isn't the same.  It is several years older, and with none of your functions.  It wakes me up with a noisy, obnoxious alarm and it doesn't snooze.  And the only contact on there is Hubby, I have no access to anyone else.  It has no apps, only a silly ball shooting game and I have given up on sending messages, the keyboard is too small for my fingers.  

Please come back home soon, I miss you.

Brandy Alexander

It has been too long between Cocktail drinks, posts and this is way overdue.  Winter is now officially here and although it is tempting to reach out for an aged Shiraz there are many cocktails that can warm you up from the inside and they are what I want to explore for the next 3 months.  First up is the Brandy Alexander which I do believe was my first ever cocktail that I had at a Chinese Restaurant not long after my 18th birthday (I was and still am a nerd, I did wait till I was 18 to drink, except on a few occasions.....).  This would have to be one of the best cocktails to try if you are new to cocktails or are yet to find one you like.  Not too sweet, and rich and creamy with the brandy giving it just the right amount of kick to have your tummy buzzing with warmth.  This is what I will always order when I cannot decide because I know I will like it and it is near impossible to get wrong.  The only problem being some places always seem to be out of cream.....

1 shot Brandy

1 shot Brown Creme de Cacao
2 shots Cream

Shake all the ingredients with ice and strain into a cocktail glass, garnish with grated nutmeg

Hubby: Too easy to drink, 4/5

Me: Rich and creamy, just enough alcohol to take the edge off but also to keep you standing up for the night, 5/5

Perfect for: Early evenings when you have some time to just sit and reflect (or first dates with Peggy Olson if you are a Mad Men fan)

Try it: Anytime the temperature drops below 20°C

Maybe They're Happy

I remember being very young when I was taught the lesson of 'Do not judge a book by it's cover'.  I have always tried to not judge and make assumptions about people I meet and instead allow myself to learn about someone by getting to know them.  Unfortunately not everyone takes this approach, and they make judgements about people straight away.  Unfortunately for me I work with a few people that are very quick to judge.  These same people also like to share that judgement with me, before I even have a chance to see the people they are making the judgements about.

The nature of my work involves people sharing their private information, acknowledging that death is a part of life and, often, unburdening family conflict.  This is difficult to do and for many they don't want to do it alone.  They will bring someone with them, usually a partner, or a friend, or a child.  The work we do is confronting and people don't want to think about it.  Even I don't like to think about it.  It took me a while to be able to switch off and stand back and see that it was just a job.  Sometime back we needed a temporary receptionist as our permanent one was moved into another role.  The person they hired was the most judgemental person I do believe I have come across.  And she is still with us.

She loves to personally come to my desk to alert me to the fact that my appointment has arrived.  And then with her voice lowered, she whispers her assumptions of that client.  I never take notice of her judgements, because I have found that almost 100% of the time she is wrong.  She will tell me a client is difficult and rude, yet when I talk to them I find them easy going and pleasant.  She will tell me a client is wasting our time as they have no money yet they are multimillionaires.  And many times when a husband and wife come in she loves to tell me it is a second marriage and she only wants his money, "after all, she is young enough to be his daughter".

The other day I did have a husband and wife come in, and it was a second marriage, and she was young enough to be his daughter, in fact she was younger than his daughter.  But so what!  After spending an hour with this couple it was clear they were both happy.  To be completely honest I couldn't say whether they were truly in love, but I could say they were both happy with whatever arrangement they had going on.  They both wanted a companion and had found each other, both fulfilling the needs of the other while having their own needs met.  And in a way isn't that part of what marriage is about?  And aren't we all striving for happiness anyway?  At the end of the day, maybe people are happy with what they have going on, and who are we to judge them for their choices and what it takes to make them happy.  Instead it is time to stop analysing the lives of others and to look at our own lives, and do what we need to do in order to ensure our own happiness.

Wash Your Mouth Out

I opened up my email the other day and while scrolling through I decided to check out the one from my local healthfood shop.  They mentioned a few things and then promoted a seminar, which, as I began reading, I thought sounded good.  That was until I read the title of the seminar, smack bang in the middle of the title was a 4 letter swear word starting with 'S'.  I didn't bother reading any further, I already knew that I didn't want to attend this seminar.

I seem to belong to a shrinking group of people who finds swearing offensive.  It is so mainstream now,  4 letter words are no longer "bleeped" from the television and almost every program on TV begins with "moderate course language".  It is part of everyday life and even now everyday language.  People swear everyday in their day to day conversations and no one blinks an eye.  I will raise my hand and say I do swear, I'm not proud of it but I do.  When I am around people that swear excessively I have been known to throw my own choice words into the mix.  And I know when I am mega stressed or exceptionally angry, the expletives come out of my mouth at full force.  I try to be mindful at all times and am constantly working to get all swear words out of my vocabulary.

When people swear I do find it offensive.  I find it inappropriate and I think the person using the swear words may have a little bit of a self esteem issue, why else would they need to use filthy language.  I remember buying a best selling book that everyone was raging about so much so they turned it into a TV series.  Every.  Single.  Page.  Of that book had at least one swear word.  I was so offended around page 50 I gave up, I wasn't going to go any further.  A very popular blogger turned author who I followed for many years starting introducing 4 letter words into her writing.  It didn't go unnoticed by me and it changed my opinion of her.  

Call me a prude but is all this swearing necessary?  Do we really need to colour our language simply to get the point across?  Does dropping the f-bomb emphasise a point better than omitting it's use?  I went back to the email that started this thinking and read a little deeper.  I was informed that her "casual use" of swear words was "a refreshing reprieve from the norm" (really, I would have thought it was the norm), and that her use of swear words was "reminding you that you are speaking to a real person".  Seriously?  I need someone to use offensive language so I know it's real?

Call me old school but I believe in old fashioned manners.  I don't answer my phone when I'm out at dinner, I always thank clients for coming in to see me and I use the words 'please' when asking for something.  And I try to keep my language clean.  In this 'modern age' I find it hard, particularly when everyone around me seems to be doing it and fail as often as I do, I just need to keep going and keep being mindful, because clean language will set me apart from the rest.  For the better.

Parlo Italiano

At the beginning of the year, I was determined that we were going to do something different.  Something to get us out of the house, meeting new people and using either our brains or our bodies.  I wanted to feel like I did more this year than just work.  It was the end of January and while making dinner, the TV was switched onto the tennis.  My mum had introduced me to the sport at a very young age and, like her, I had fallen in love with it. However like so many other things, as I grew up and entered the real world, I suddenly had very little time for my passions and hobbies.  I remember flicking through the local paper and an advertisement caught me eyes.  "Anyone for Tennis?" Why, yes actually, maybe me.  I told Hubby, this was it, I was going to get back into tennis this year, not only would I meet new people, get out of the house but I would also be working on my fitness as a result.

The open day to sign up for the tennis was on Friday.  On Monday I was surfing the web and came across the local community college and while flipping through the virtual course guide, I noticed they were offering Italian.  Hubby and I had talked for years that one day we would like to learn a language, if only to be able to sit in a restaurant and speak it safe in the knowledge that (hopefully) no one could understand (I'm sure we are not alone with this fantasy).  We had narrowed down the language selection to a few and Italian was top of the list.  I have always loved the Italian language, it is so musical and rhythmic and I love the passion with which the natives speak.  I was fortunate many, many, many, years ago to have visited Italy for a week and I fell in love with the country on day one.  In Year 11 I took up Italian (introductory) as an elective.  However while studying other subjects and working part time, I couldn't devote as much time as I should have to the language and by the end of the year I dropped it, as I felt it would bring my marks down in Year 12.  I was determined, however, that one day I would devote myself to the study of the language and make good on my goal.

I suggested to Hubby that perhaps we could do Italian.  He was interested but suggested we do that or tennis, not both.  I was in a conundrum, on one side I wanted to get back into tennis, and tennis also sat alongside some other goals, like getting fitter, but on the other side I wanted to take the opportunity to learn Italian, properly this time and being an evening class if we said next time who knows when that next time would come, things may change and we may loose our evenings for several years.  With a day before the class was meant to start, we choose Italian.  Tennis would always be there, Italian, maybe not.  When we arrived at our first class and met our wonderful teacher, I knew we had made the right choice.

We have been fortunate enough that Level 2 was offered this term and have been able to continue our learning.  I practise at home when I can and Hubby and I will speak what we can to each other, practising our pronounciation, as well at pointing out objects and saying the word in Italian to increase our vocabulary.  There is so much to learn and it will take years before we could ever speak it fluently, but we are enjoying learning a new skill and increasing our knowledge each week and we plan to continue on with the study for as long as we can.  And even though we only took up the subject because we both have a love for the language and the culture, I think we might just have to plan a visit over there one day, so we can put our skills to good use and soak up the culture, and of course the food and wine.

Orange and Black

I had a few big plastic tubs of stuff I had kept over the years, things I felt were important, memorabilia stuff and the like.  I decided that I had just a little too much and wanted to try and squeeze my 30-something years down to two tubs.  It was time for a cull.  One thing I stumbled upon was my Balmain Tigers jersey.  The sight of it immediately transported me back to Saturday night and Sunday afternoon games at Leichhardt Oval. 

I am not sure how my interest in the Footy started.  It must have just been a phase, all part of growing up, because I don't care for the sport at all now (although, a large reason why I have no interest now is because I have zero respect for the people that play and represent the game, which is a huge issue in itself).  I was 12, 13 maybe and I needed a team.  My Dad would be out on Saturday afternoons working in the garden or doing other jobs around the house and he always had his radio with him, and I remember from a very young age listening to The Continuous Call Team which he always had on during the Footy season.  I asked Dad what team I should follow.  He told me there was only one team, the Balmain Tigers, it was his team and he had been supporting them since he was a kid.  I suggested that we go to one of their games, the look on Dad's face was priceless.

Anyone familiar with parking in the Inner West of Sydney would know it was a nightmare.  And you needed to park in the back streets far away and join in the growing crowd of people making their way to the Oval.  Not us though, because Dad had a plan.  There was a mental hospital only a very short distance from the Oval and Dad would go there and tell them we were visiting a patient, they always let us in even though as time went by, I would be dressed up in all my orange and black gear.  We always got a park and only ever had a 5 minute walk to the Oval.  We sat on the Hill.  Back then the 'old school' grounds would have one side of the field without any official seating, but you would pay to sit on the Hill.  We brought a picnic blanket and sat on that to watch the games.  At the back of the Hill they set up a large TV screen, it was the very early days of the video ref and when that was called everyone on the Hill turned around to look at the screen and watch the instant replay.  If the call didn't go our way coipesous amounts of empty beer cans would be thrown at the screen.  How times have changed.

At Half Time, Dad would wander off to grab a beer along with most other people.  Everyone on the Hill would stand for a stretch and a chat, kids would run around and the cheerleaders would come out to perform.  I was a confused teenager trying to be a feminist and would yell out things to the cheerleaders.  Things like, other career options they could have taken instead of become sex objects for men.  Like I said, it was the awkward phase of my life where I thought I knew everything and really knew nothing at all.  Fortunately for me at half time, everyone around me had already had a few and found it highly amusing.  Although thinking about this now, I can't help but still cringe just a little bit.

If it was a big win or loss we left early to avoid the crowds, but if it was a close one we stayed until the end.  We were going a fair bit and I thought I should buy a jersey to really show my support.  I scrimped and saved for it and the first game of the first season the following year, I purchased it.  They only had one in my size and it was last years so he gave me a discount.  I was so happy.  Dad and I continued going to several games throughout the year, but the game was in trouble, it split in two and became a complete mess and in the end the Balmain Tigers ceased to exist, merging with the enemy, Wests Magpies.  That was it for me, I was done, I couldn't support the team anymore, because in my mind, it didn't exist.  Even the physical location of the game was moved with only a couple of matches to be play at Leichhardt.  I folded up my jersey and stashed it away, the football phase was over.

I am thankful I kept the jersey, I have it hanging up in the wardrobe of the spare room.  Not too sure what I will do with it, but perhaps one day when I have children of my own, I will wear it underneath a jacket on a cold wintery Saturday as we head off to a football game, creating new memories.

Occupation: Fashion Designer

What do you want to be when you grow up?  As a side note I have only just found the answer to that and I am in my early 30’s.  Lately I have been thinking about all the things I thought I wanted to be when I was growing up.  I never seemed to want the stock standard things everyone else wanted.  The girls all wanted to be teachers, nurses and mums but not me.  I had other plans. 

In Year 7 I was determined that I was going to be a fashion designer.  Of course I had no interest in fashion or clothes and spent all my time outside of school in jeans and t-shirts,  but in my mind, I wanted to be a fashion designer.  I vividly remember during a Religious class sketching away my collection.  I cannot draw, but with a purple pen and my yellow pad (does anyone else who went to high school in the 90’s remember the coloured writing pad craze?) I drew a singlet, shirt, skirt, dress and pants all with some silly flower design on it (again, hello 90’s).  The teacher busted me.  He asked me to put the pen down, came over and held up the pad.  I don’t remember what he said, but I remember he showed the entire class and they all laughed at me.  For the rest of the week I was picked on for wanting to be fashion designer.  

I wasn’t de-railed.  In Year 8 when we could chose our electives I choose Textiles and Design.  I wanted to be the best in the whole grade.  While I did well in the theory of it, the actually design part, not so great.  Sure I showed great skill in sewing, sewing is quite analytical and I am good at things like that.  But I also showed a total lack of imagination and zero creative design.  I stuck with the basics and what was safe.  My Year 8 work was a simple red skirt.  Year 9 was a tracksuit; black pants, plain red top.  Year 10 was an Asian inspired dress, again it was the 90’s, it was also the same pattern at least 10 other girls had chosen. 

The second half of Year 10 was when my creative talent really emerged.  We were all given a white shirt to design and show case just how talented we were.  I tie-dyed mine emerald green and using the fancy sewing machine with built-in patterns, covered the whole thing in metallic green embroidered leaves (perhaps this was an early indication of my inner hippy).  I had no idea what I was thinking.  I thought I was talented and creative but it looked like something poorly made out of Nimbin.  It was crap.  And it was then that I looked around at all the wonderfully designed shirts from other students, and then at my horrible green and white mess that wouldn’t even make it on a worst dressed list, and then I realised I shouldn’t continue on with my Textiles and Design course.  Fashion designer I just wasn’t meant to be.

I can laugh at all this now.  I still enjoying sewing when I have the time, but I like to stick with the basics and keep it simple.  Just make classics and leave it at that.  I could never have been a fashion designer, I think to be one requires the opposite personality to what I have.  I am very creative, but not visually, and after 3 solid years I still couldn’t draw the silhouette of the female form on which to sketch my “designs”.  Fortunately I learnt this lesson early on and didn’t bother pursuing it any further after Year 10, and I am sure my teachers equally breathed a sign of relief with that knowledge.

Solitude

I am an introvert.  I used to be bothered by this at lot (which I will save for a later time) but then I came to embrace it.  Hubby is also an introvert.  After big family gatherings we just go home and sit on the couch and put the TV on.  We don't really watch it, but rather escape into our own little worlds.  I love that Hubby is an introvert just like me but, as much as I love him, I still need some time just to myself.  Time in pure solitude.  Of course this is difficult to do, it isn't easy to ask for some solitude. 

Hubby loves to sleep in.  That is his thing, his reward for a long week at work is to sleep in on weekends, as late as he can, or as late as I will let him.  He even enhances the experience by staying up really late on Friday and Saturday nights watching man shows or man movies (you know, guns, blood, lots of heavy vehicles at high speed) just so he can get enjoy an extended sleep in.  On these nights when Hubby sets himself up for the night after a cocktail or two I go to bed early.  Mainly because after a long week at work I am done and exhausted, but also so I can spend some time in the bedroom alone, listening to my music and lying in the middle of the bed with my arms and legs spread out and my head nestled between both pillows.  It is my second perfect time of solitude escaping into my thoughts and dreams and slowly dozing off to sleep.  

On Saturday and Sunday mornings I wake with the sun, refreshed and revitalized and with another few hours of solitude.  My baby Raz is a morning dog, (his brother, much like his father, prefers the sleep in) and he always gets up with me.  Each weekend is the same, into the kitchen to turn the coffee machine on to warm up, then wrap up in a trackie, hoodie and ugg boots and then make the coffee.  With my steaming caffeine hit, I sit in the lounge with Raz on my lap reading a book.  I can sit like that for hours if I have the time.  It is my ideal way to spend the weekend; so quiet and peaceful and I look out into our garden and beyond with the windows open and the crisp air lightly blowing through, the whole neighbourhood is quiet and I sink a little deeper into the armchair feeling very contented with myself and life in general.

These moments of solitude have come to be the highlights of my week, the time I most look forward to, because in these moments I recharge myself with the energy to see me through the week full of clients and colleagues and the weekend full of family and friends.  My perfect moments of solitude clear my head, set my mood and allow me to venture forth creating beautiful memories for the week ahead.

Where Is The Serenity?

Today I returned to work after a blissful 2.5 weeks off.  Hubby and I had a wonderful time, we took a trip down South and explored some beautiful countryside and powdery soft sand beaches and also spent some time at home, pottering about inside and out slowly working through our list and making our house feel as homely as possible.  I was in a fantastic frame of mind.  As relaxed as I had been all year and looking at everything with rose coloured glasses.  The days were long and pleasant and everything we did was done in a casual, leisurely pace.  Then last night I had to face the reality, that this state of nirvana was about to be over.  That was not a conscious thought but it must have existed on some level as I spent the night tossing and turning and not sleeping.  When I finally gave into my alarm I felt more tired than when I had gone to bed last night.

But I was determined.  I was going to ensure that my more positive outlook on life would flow through into work and that I would be positive and have a good day.  It was painful, I had 2.5 weeks worth of work, un-neatly piled up on my desk and the girls were only too keen to share with me the gossip I had missed out on.  As the day wore on and the piles became smaller and I found my groove again, I was starting to believe that this could work.  I could incorporate my holiday vibe into my work environment.  However as 5pm loomed the real office talk began, the complaining and whining and I politely nodded and smiled as I listened.  I wondered, was I that negative before my holiday?  I think I know the answer to that, and I'm not happy about it.  I did the only thing I could do.  I walked away.  I was not going to get caught up in all that rubbish again.

Holidays are a wonderful thing.  Of course there are just never enough of them.  In my happy, anxious free time, I gained a lot of clarity about things on my mind.  Answers to questions pondered became crystal clear.  So much so I felt like the answer was always there right in front of me, I just failed to see.  I finally worked out the direction for my life for the next few years, and I like it, I am excited by it and the more I picture it, the more I want it.  Everything seems to have fallen into place and I have a sense of where I want to go and how to get there.  My current job is not in that picture but that is ok.  It serves a purpose for now and when I think about my new goals it puts my job in perspective.  Just that, a job, an income, a place to earn money for now.  And with that in mind I can walk away from the negativity in the office.  I don't need it, and it serves no purpose.  I can go to work, do what I need to do and with a little bit of effort and mindfulness, stay in my serenity state of mind, hopefully until the next holiday.

It's Finally Arrived

I have been waiting 9 months for this moment and I feel about a week ago it arrived.  The shift into Autumn finally came about in our little part of the world.  The weekend was wonderful with lots of light drizzly rain, and as I lay back onto our couch with the window open, a crisp breeze floated through and ran across me.  The air was so fresh and cool and alerted me to the fact that we were now truly in Autumn, my favourite time of year.  I almost cried I felt so good. 

This time of year is truly magical.  The light is different, it is softer and in the afternoon everything lights up with a glow, a gentle warm radiation without the harshness of the Summer sun.  There is nothing better than being outside on a Sunny day basking in the warmth of the sun with a light cool breeze occasionally meandering around, that makes you snuggle into your clothes just a little bit more.  

Ah! the snuggling.  Lazy days inside, cuddled up in blankets and devouring good books with a sneaky glass of full bodied red wine in the other hand. And if you are so fortunate, the crackling of an open fire provides perfect background noise. 

For me the most enchanting thing about this time of year is that it takes me back to our wedding.  A perfect Autumn day followed by a late lunch in front of an open fire.  Which of course is the best way to spend these Autumnal Days.  We married in the country.  A place that feels like home everytime we visit.  We always ended up in this country town in the Autumn and one time as we were driving through admiring the red, gold and brown leaves on the trees, I made the suggestion that perhaps we should get married there.  Hubby was sold on the idea once we checked out a 100 year old Guesthouse, we knew we didn't need to look any further.  

While this season has a special place in our hearts, so does that country town.  It feels like home because one day it will be.  It is the only place I have ever been that just feels right deep down.  The one place that makes me think, yes, I could stay here for the rest of my life.  And this season brings back all those wonderful memories, and as I find myself reaching for another layer of clothing, I start to dream about our future and wondering what other wonderful memories are yet to be created.

Home

It's already been two years in our home and the time seems to have passed so quickly.  I remember moving in and how much of a mess the place was after all of our stuff was brought in and sitting in a massive pile in one room.  And when we moved in we didn't have a driveway or even a blade of grass.  It has been raining and the whole yard, front, back and side was just a giant mud pit thanks to the high clay soil type of our land.  A few weeks later once the driveway was poured we had to continue parking in the street due to excess crap filling up the garage.  We did manage to get one car into the garage before the wedding.  Fortunately for us we had two weeks after the honeymoon before going back to work that allowed us to really work on the place and deal with all our stuff we had collected for so long for this very moment.

The last 12 months has all been about making this place a home and even though there is still a long list of things to do and now that we are settled and have been here two years, maintenance on the place has suddenly become something to do, I do feel that this place is home.  When I walk in the door now it feels like home.  It has that enveloping feel to it that this is a place of rest.  It truly is our sanctuary from the world, a place we can escape to.  We can turn the phone off, disable the doorbell and just be in our little oasis.  

The most pleasure I get from our home is on Saturday mornings.  Hubby loves to sleep in and I love to get up early.  Really early at dawn.  I make a coffee and sit in the lounge, open up the curtains, let the fresh morning air in and sit down and read.  The house is so quiet and the whole neighbourhood is quiet, I hardly even hear any traffic.  That moment for me each weekend is total bliss.  It is my perfect serenity and the moment where I feel the most relaxed for the week.

I do struggle sometimes, because deep down I know that this is not my forever home, this is just my home for now, and for the next few years.  I try to appreciate it knowing we won't always be here and remind myself to live in the present and embrace the present.  And I do embrace this home we have created, our sanctuary, our retreat and I look forward to the next 12 months as we continue to work on this place and increase this wonderful feeling of home.

Daydreaming

I caught the train to work today.  I haven't caught the train in a long while.  Of course when I was a regular user of public transport there were no quiet carriages.  I would try and read and find myself reading the same page over and over as I tried really hard not to listen to other conversations, or the music from the guy sitting across from me.  Today, however I indulged in sitting in a quiet carriage.

Ah, the serenity.  Although the first thing I noticed was that perhaps it was a little too quiet.  The silence was close to the line of peaceful and relaxing vs eerily quiet.  I look my seat and pulled out my book and began reading.  About a page in I put the book down.  It was too quiet to read, no one was moving and the gentle rock-rock of the carriage was almost hypnotising.  I looked out the window and found my mind easily slipping into that wonderful world of daydreaming.  My alter ego appeared and began living out all my dreams, big and small.  

Daydreaming is my favourite pastime.  I savour it whenever I have the chance.  I have even been known to potter about the house cleaning, only so I can escape to my alter ego and live in my fantasy world.  I find daydreaming cures all ills.  It calms me down when I feel upset and lifts me up when I am feeling flat, it also helps me to be clear on what I want and what I don't want.  And in those rare occasions when I am stuck watching something bad or listening to irrelevant chatter, it offers a reprieve and instantly makes the time pass better.

Of course once I escaped, the time to work passed in what felt like an instant.  The train had arrived at my station and I was off walking leisurely to work shaking off the clouds of my other world.  As I sat at my desk I felt relaxed, calm and ready to work.  Perhaps this is something I should look into.  A lot can be said for day dreaming and relaxing on the way to work, as opposed to dealing with the stress of peak hour traffic.  But then the convenience of private transport is maybe a slightly bigger indulgence that for now I think I will hold onto.  There is a lot to be said for getting home in the quickest amount of time possible.

Change

Someone said to me today that a change is as good as a holiday.  I disagree.  At least with a holiday I can go somewhere new, somewhere I have never been before.  I can go out and discover new things or I can choose to sit back, relax and listen to the ocean while sipping on a cocktail.  A holiday allows me to switch off, to recharge my body and mind and with each passing day the holiday bliss chips away at the old and stagnant and brings the new to the surface.  The creativity creeps back into my mind and ideas seem to flow.  A holiday gives me a new perspective on things, problems vanish and solutions appears and I have the chance to reconnect with Hubby and spend some real time together.

Right now I have none of that.  My hairdresser visited me yesterday.  A week ago I sent her a message, telling her it was time.  I am blonde and with a few exceptions over the years always have been, but every now and then I feel the need to change, to go dark.  I am back to my old job at work after spending 14 months acting in a higher role.  As such I am over qualified and getting bored fast.  Work is stagnant.  At home I feel as if I am going through the motions, the weekdays blend together and aside from Italian classes, Monday to Friday almost feels like groundhog day.  I needed to do something to shake things up.  I thought the best way to do that was to dye my hair a nice chocolate brown.

I sat in front of the mirror and as she began to dry my hair I had a moment.  A slight panic and feeling of anxiety as I realised I was stuck with the dark and in the moment I wanted the blonde back.  I turned my chair around.  I told the hairdresser I didn't want to look in the mirror I wanted it to be a surprise.  But in reality I just needed to take a few deep breathes and think about something else.  Once my hair was dry and I turned around and looked my first reaction was "It isn't dark enough".  My hairdresser explained we could go darker next time but she didn't want to go too dark now so as not to damage the hair.  I am not sure what reaction I was expecting, but I really didn't feel anything about this outward change.  

After she left I kept looking in the mirror, waiting for that moment of "I love this" but it never came.  I realised this morning it isn't about the hair, I do like it, it looks good, it is exactly what I wanted.  But while I may look different, nothing has changed.  Everything is the same.  It seems silly to think changing my hair colour would shake things up, but I suppose in that moment when I made the decision to change, I thought it would.  And then, this evening, my moment came.  I realised why I wanted to go dark.  It wasn't about shaking things up, it was really about hiding and hibernating.  I have begun working on a handful of goals this year and I am just starting to see progress being made.  I wanted to hide away from the world and hibernate.  I didn't want to be noticed, I wanted to continue chipping away, doing what I needed to do, and progressing towards my goals.  Once I have reached these goals, then I want to step forward and shine and be noticed.  And in that moment, that is when I will go back to blonde, back to my old self, only better, fresher, busting with creativity, just like a holiday.

Slow Down

I had some paperwork for a client to sign today.  I sat with him and the papers and handed him a pen.  I told him to sign on each page.  He carefully and thoughtfully signed on each page.  He signature was slow, deliberate, and I found myself starting to get irritated that his signature wasn't quick and fast like mine.  He had just finished the first page when I would have been done by now.  He handed me the first page and I looked down.  He had the most beautiful handwriting, his signature was a piece of art.  I looked over as he signed the next page.  His pen moved across gracefully and he wrote clearly every letter in his name.  It was as if he was typing his name into Word and using a fancy font.  

As I watched him sign each page I became memorised.  The pen was dancing on the paper and I was envious of the detail it recorded.  I wished my own hands could create writing that beautiful.  He handed me the last page and I signed away.  My scribble.  Just a quick flick of the pen, done, next.  It doesn't even look like my name, it doesn't even look like my initials just a scribble my dog could have drawn with a pen in his mouth.  

When I sat back at my desk after he had left I looked at my notes.  There was my messy handwriting all over the page.  My penmanship says one thing about me.  Rushed.  Or maybe the correct word is impatient.  If I make a mistake, misspell a word for example, I just cross it out and write next to it or above it.  I do not have the patience to bother with white out.  I don't have the patience to make it neat either.  Just like school.  Most of the girls had girly handwriting and took the time to put little love hearts in their "i" 's.  Not me.  I wrote too hard and fast my hand would cramp up.  And here I am and nothing has changed.  I type whenever I can because it is less strain on my hand, and it is neater and faster.  And has spellcheck.

My client made me pause and reflect.  He has terminal cancer, not long to go and he still took the time to sign his name with care and attention.  Maybe it is time I did the same.  A reminder to make time each day to step away from this instant world and pause.  Do something with care, with attention, with detail and with pride.  Stop rushing trying to capture everything and do everything, but instead pick out the important bits, and do them well, with patience, to ensure a beautiful result each time. 

The Pause Button

Sleep and I have never been great friends, more like casual aquaintances.  She deceives me with a series of wonderful nights of sleep and just when I think this relationship can be taken to the next level she stops returing my calls, stands me up and goes M.I.A.  But of course it is never her fault, there is always something else to blame, and tonight that would be my mind.  

I find the bext way to spend a public holiday is getting out of the house and catching up with family and friends over a great meal.  Hubby and I drove to Sydney and went out with my mum for an enjoyable lunch where I devoured a plate of mussels and mopped up the sauce with buttery toast.  With a full belly Hubby and I chilled out back home half watching TV, half pottering about.  I was feeling good.  It was time for bed and I thought I would do a little reading.  This year I am all about habits and I am trying to set a good bedtime habit.  Going to bed at the same time and getting into a routine with removing all distractions and slowly winding down.  I did my reading and after 20 minutes turned the light off.  

It was hard, I didn't want to stop reading but I knew I should.  I wanted to get up early and go for a walk, my morning routine habit I am working on.  I rolled over to Hubby and snuggled in close but my mind was going off, ticking over.    I found myself thinking about work and had to remind myself that was not the time or the place to think about work.  My mind obeyed but instead of switching off it starting thinking about other things.  Bits of my past floating by in my head getting faster and faster.

I love listening to the rain.  I have always found rainy days the most perfect days.  I love the rhythm of the rain and the way it make everything clean, fresh, renewed.  The best smell in the world is that of rain, it makes me smile.  I had downloaded a few rain apps on my phone to switch on when I needed to relax and listen to the rain.  The first time I listened I closed my eyes and pictured the future.  I saw myself standing on the undercover wrap-around balcony of our dream house.  Looking out over the countryside watching the rain renew the pastures, pumping life into the cycle and there I would stand listening and breathing in the magical smell.  These thoughts relaxed me instantly and with these pleasant images I would wonder off into sleep.

Tonight as I listened and stood on that veranda, people appeared and stood next to me, talking.  I walked away and they followed.  I couldn't settle and relax and instead was tossing and turning and then the climax occured, where I started thinking about the fact I am not relaxed and not going to sleep and that is the end point.  It just won't happen now.  

I lay there for another ten minutes hoping for the best, but my eyes kept opening and I found I was staring at the shadows in the room for so long they almost started to move.   How I longed for a Pause Button for my overthinking mind.  Just 7-8 hours is all I ask.

I gave up and got up.  And here I am, out on the couch with a trusty Seinfeld DVD on, I need it during these times.  I don't have to think.  Raz joined me, ever loyal to his mum and I just need to wait for sleep to return.  Just enough so I can doze on the couch and wake up long enough to crawl back into bed.  I don't know about my walk tomorrow.  That can be dealt with in the morning.  For now I need to lie here and wait until the thinking slows down enough for me to rest and relax, and for sleep to return once more.

Teddy Love

It all began with "Pinky (I)".  My first Teddy was given to me on the day I was born.  It was love at first sight.  I took Pinky with me everywhere, and in most of the photos of me as a baby and then as a toddler, there was Pinky.  My family told me of a story of when I was very young, (as I do not recall it),  that once we went on a boat ride, and as usual, I had Pinky with me.  And on that fateful day the boat crashed.  It must have been a minor one, but it was enough for Pinky to fly out of my hands and sink into the water.  I couldn't stop crying and my parents assured me they would do everything possible to get Pinky back.  Sure enough my parents presented me with my 'rescued' Pinky, and I was a happy girl once again.  Although I didn't realise it then, what they had actually given me was Pinky II.  Many years later when they assumed I was out of the soft toy phase, they told me that they couldn't rescue Pinky from the water, and my beloved Pinky was actually a new Teddy.  I was crushed.

As I ventured along the path to adulthood and my tastes slowly matured, the one thing that didn't change was my love of bears.  When I was studying for the HSC, Pinky II sat proudly on my desk, watching with pride as "mum" threw herself into her studies.  By this stage my love affair with Teddy's, which was now referred to as a Hobby, the adult way of allowing yourself to continue indulging in childhood, was known to all and on my 18th birthday they appeared in numerous presents.  

It was then I thought it might be time to take this a little further and I looked into collectable bears, and I worked and saved to buy a few.  As the years passed, my collection grew, and then I met Hubby.  Whilst Hubby and I settled into our second home together, and as I began to unpack my bears, I had a sudden realisation that a bear collection in our home may look childish. Also as I flipped through my home lifestyle magazines, as I often did, no Teddy's were ever to be seen.  When the call came to move up to The Coast all of my bears, remaining packed in their boxes, were placed in storage.

Upon moving into our new home, Hubby and I have slowly been working our way through the last handful of unpacked boxes.  Stashed in a spare room's closet sat the huge boxes of my bears.  We have been working on building a 'mini' library with some new bookshelves, and as I stacked the shelves I felt it looked a little too impersonal.  It was then I remembered the bears and thought it was the perfect time to pull them out.  I decided I would only put a few out on display just to add a bit of personality to the library.  I starting working through one box.  Each bear was lovingly wrapped in tissue paper having been packed away with utmost of care.  And as I looked at the bears, I asked myself how could I choose?  I thought, no, I must be strong, I have so many that they must go. But as I picked up one bear and then another and then another, I realised that they each had a story to tell.  Every bear I had reminded me of a place, a time, a beautiful memory.  How could I toss that away?

I pulled Hubby over to the bears and showed him, and with my best effort at 'Puppy dog eyes' asked "Can we keep them?".  He smiled and said what I wanted to hear.  "Yes".  But we both agreed that we would make a feature of them and show them off in a display cabinet, neat and tidy, and in a very mature way.  That way when people come to visit I can show them off, tell them a story, and for those very special people I can point out the lovely gift they gave me and just how special it is.

This Is A Great Year

It was my first day back at work for the year today, and I enjoyed dating my paperwork with '14'.  Last year did not turn out at all how we had hoped and I would say it was probably our worst year.  And strangely most people I know have said the same thing about that year.  So I was very excited to see the New Year roll around and put everything behind us.  

There is something about this time of year.  A freshness, and people seem to be a little more positive, a little more hopeful that things will be better this year.  I know I am feeling it, and I have decided that this year, Is A Great Year.  The whole 12 months are going to be wonderful and enriching and the hopefulness I am feeling right now I will carry through all year long.  

I am not talking about resolutions that will be given up and forgotten before the month is out,  but rather setting up more long term goals and having a better attitude and a more positive outlook on everything.  Focusing on what I have rather than what I don't have, stopping to see and enjoy the small pleasures in everyday and making more of an effort to be nice to people when they are being aggressive to me, which is so true for some of my clients at work.  Hubby always reminds me that you get more bees with honey than vinegar.

Not long after I set my goals last year, I was told by someone I respected and admired (at the time) to get rid of them.  That I shouldn't be goal setting and that I shouldn't put so much pressure on myself.  I was to let life happen and enjoy it.  I tried this approach and it didn't work for me.  At the end of the year, off my own back I wrote out how I want my life to look in 10 years time, and that vision fired me up in a way I had not felt for so many years.  I looked at that vision and where I am now, and I knew the only way to get there was to set those goals and 'get crackin'.  Hello 2014, otherwise known as Step One on the country laneway to turn my Rural Dreaming into my Rural Reality.